


K'oh-nar

by Telas_Selar



Category: Star Trek: Picard
Genre: Amputee main character, Concerned Cristóbal Rios, Early Pon Farr, Hurt S'vec Sylar, Implied/Referenced Past Torture, M/M, Minor Angst, POW S'vec Sylar, Pon Farr, Sylar has PTSD, Sylar's past with artificial plak'tow wasn't very pleasant, Syrios, Vulcan Biology, Vulcan Culture, Vulcan soulbonds, disorientation, implied/referenced past rape/non-con, minor physical injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:15:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26032522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telas_Selar/pseuds/Telas_Selar
Summary: Struck down by the beginnings of his twisted Pon Farr, Sylar struggles to conceal it - and fails.
Relationships: Cristóbal Rios/S'vec Sylar
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	K'oh-nar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cristobalrios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cristobalrios/gifts).



_Focus was a gift._

Brow furrowed, pressed into a thin line, S'vec Sylar knelt more firmly at the foot of his stripped bed, fingertips trembling as he struggled to hold them absolutely still.

_But it was not a gift easily retained._

The Vulcan's head was pounding, pulse throbbing abnormally fast in his side, the sensation sickening as he swallowed hard, over and over again, every movement only further contributing to the nausea, the disorientation. This could not be, not now, not when all had gone so well - a state that Sylar sought to make sure was a permanent emotion within the confines of his bondmate's mind.

Sylar's fingernails dug into his bare flesh with an almost _Klingon_ ferocity for hands so delicate, so easily stimulated, and it was an action which he quickly regretted. Instead of helping to ease his mind at the onset of pain, this action only served to increase the torment upon him, torment which he no longer had the choice to ignore. His hands were so easily stimulated, and even as the pleasure/pain combination surged through overstimulated nerves, his struggle to attain focus seemed to fall apart as though it were smoke. There was too much in his fragmented mind, too many unpleasant memories of his past, and his compartmentalisation which was keeping both his current state and those memories at bay was rapidly dissipating. 

Sylar inclined his head weakly, giving up on the position he'd attempted to hold, legs trembling as terribly as his throbbing fingertips as he fought to stand on them long enough to make it to the replicator; suppressants were of no use anymore, not after the Romulan interference, but he had to make it to the K-45, to inject it before the EMH got wind of his elevated vital signs - he couldn't telepathically manipulate his pulse from showing up on Sirena's internal sensors for much longer. 

But every uneven step was torture, every moment spent with his eyes open unbearable, every second of struggle to reach a wall which was only a foot away…herculean. 

A whimper left Sylar's throat, as he gripped the edge of the replicator pad, instantly regretting this action as the resulting stimulation once again washed over him, merciless and arousing. His mouth was dry, like sandpaper, but he fumbled for the replicator controls all the same, forgetting momentarily that this was the 24th century, that speaking directly to the computer was the correct way to activate the system. 

Yet as he continued to blindly probe the unit with shaking hands, pain and pleasure lancing through him in the form of what felt like miniscule needles, his control over his vital signs ceased completely, causing an alarming surge to appear on Emil's internal sensors. 

Almost instantaneously, the hologram flickered into existence, hands clasped behind his back as he opened his mouth to utter his activation phrase, but he never even got there. 

Sylar had collapsed on his side, chest heaving, head thrown back as the last ounce of self control left him, giving rise to sudden panic on the part of the captain, who sat up instantly on the bridge. 

Rios immediately tapped his combadge and got to his feet, momentarily trying to understand the complicated mechanics of what he was experiencing, before he broke into a run, all thoughts not pertaining to his bondmate shoved hastily aside. “Emil” He inquired breathlessly of the hologram, who was now scanning Sylar with more urgency than usual. “I can feel something _really_ bad right now and I need to know you got him. Tell me you got him.”

The EMH frowned, hesitating for only a moment due to the readings, but he was spared having to answer as Rios burst through the door after punching in the security override from muscle memory.

“Sylar!” the captain practically cried out, dropping to his knees by his mate and cradling his head in an open show of affection that plainly showed just how concerned he was, but the Vulcan did not ease into the touch, instead trying to shy away from it, although his strength was all but gone and he failed.

“Captain” He murmured, barely loud enough for either Rios or Emil to hear him properly. “You must...stay away from me...particularly...now.”

“The hell I will. _Estás herido._ ” The taller man’s own fingertips gently brushed the doctor’s temple, which was stained with fresh blood from his fall, and Sylar flinched, something which both confused and hurt the very concerned Rios. 

The captain turned wildly back to Emil, red-hot fury radiating from him in waves as he tried and failed to handle all the conflicting sensations the bond was providing. _“¿Te importaría explicar qué diablos está pasando aquí?”_ He snapped at the EMH, and Emil pursed his lips.

“Captain, I believe this situation ought to be handled with some...delicacy.”

 _“_ ** _What_** _situation?!”_ Rios all but yelled. He hadn’t realised just how much Sylar’s usual mental stability usually calmed him until now - without it, all of his own negative emotions were at their peak, keeping him constantly on edge, making him incapable of clear thought, and the sensation of an incapacitated Sylar trembling against him wasn’t helping.

Even Emil could see that, yet the unpleasant truth he had to deliver just couldn’t be avoided.

“It looks,” he said slowly, “an awful lot like the doctor’s Pon Farr has made an early appearance.”

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> “Estás herido” — “You're hurt”  
> “¿Te importaría explicar qué diablos está pasando aquí?” — “Would you mind explaining what the hell is going on here?”


End file.
